Hi! I know that this fic comes a little late, but I wasn't comfortable with publishing it without a Beta checking first my mistakes. Thank you so much Alice, for your help!
The prompt was: "Tom and Hermione just so happen to be staying at the same hotel for Christmas and get snowed in".
Another problem I had, was that I went a little off-topic. I wrote another OS for the same prompt, but I still have to proof-read it.
The title comes from a Ralph Waldo Emerson's quote: "Sunshine cannot bleach the snow, nor time unmakes what poets know".
The name 'Naga' is the male version of Nagini and the spell Hermione used is more or less the same that Lily Evans used on Slughorn's goldfish.
HG&TR
When Tom pulled apart the curtains, he saw that the snow still hadn't stop to fall down. In fact, it was snowing harder than the day before and the cold, white mattress reached the metre height. He tsked, annoyed. He couldn't get out and keep searching the forest.
Then, a thought crossed his mind. Neither could she.
Yes, she. He hadn't seen her in the forest. Mrs. Nikolla, the hotel's owner he was staying in, had told him that Hermione had left early in the morning, with another guests, to ski in the Mount Korab.
Hermione had left him behind, whithout telling him anything. The memory made him tighten his fists as he descended the stairs to the canteen for breakfast.
And there she was, surrounded by a bunch of pigs. Muggle pigs. It was understandable, he thought as he poured himself a cup of hot tea. She was the only truly remarkable woman in there: outspoken and meticulous, and she didn't flirt with men like a loony goose. Actually, she wasn't a simple woman; she was a witch, and above all that, she was a witch on a mission. Like him, she was searching for the Ravenclaw's diadem. For what, she didn't tell, but that was partially okay because he hadn't told her why he was searching for it either. However, he still had the entire day to make her spit it out.
He sat down few tables away in front of her, and as she stopped laughing at whatever those idiotic brats had said, she locked eyes with him. He tilted his head to the right as a greeting, and she answered back with a tilt of her own and a little, uneasy smile.
His guts twisted unpleasantly as he saw her rejoyining the conversation at her table with a much more happier expression on her face.
Hermione sat by the window in the small library. Mr. Nikolla has let her the access and now she was all alone –finally- , watching the snowflakes fall down.
It was the 30th of December. The year, 1945. She still couldn't believe it; one moment, she was fighting the Snatchers off, the other, two spells hit her and she found herself here, in the past. She hoped that the last spell she threw, at Harry, had worked, and that nobody recognised him. She really hoped that him and Ron were safe.
Tomorrow, Hermione would finally find the lost diadem. She already had an idea of where Helena had hidden it, she was just waiting for him to go back to Hogwarts. Then, she would use the knowledge given by the diadem to find a way home. It was a very far-fetched plan, indeed, but it was the only thing she could come up that didn't end in her having to interact with anyone she would later knew in the future. Except him.
She hadn't considered the possibility that Riddle may have done some ulterior researches in Albania, before he asked Helena the correct location. However, she was determined to not let this uncomfortable leak get to her and ruin her plan. She had to believe that the diadem would help her in finding a solution to her problem and that she would finally be at home, with her friends.
Yes, the plan would work. It just had to. Tom Marvolo Riddle be damned.
"So this is where you were hiding," he said, unannounced.
She jolted. He laughed quietly.
"Here, I brought you your green tea."
"Why?"
"Why, Hermione, it's tea-time. Oh, I took the liberty of spicing it with cinnamon, if you don't mind."
"Thank you, Mr. Riddle." She took the cup, but didn't take a sip. She turned back again to the window and to the white show playing outside.
He pursed his lips, and ever so calmly, retorted, "It's Tom, Hermione. I thought we were past formalities."
She shrugged. "You don't like your name." She still had to taste her tea.
And he was dumbfounded. "Why would you say that?"
Hermione smiled, indulgently. "You're not as good as an actor as you like to think. You don't like your name, and you don't like anyone here at the hotel. From your stories of Hogwarts, you only seem to tolerate the Professors and even less, your classmates. And you're starting to think that coming here to find Ravenclaw's diadem without a precise idea of where to look was a complete waste of time. Admit it, it's not that hard, there is not much that you actually like."
"You're quite wrong about one thing, Hermione. I like you," he replied with a charming smirk.
Hermione shook her head, and with it, her brownish mane. "I beg to differ. I merely intrigue you, nothing more. You still hadn't figured me out, but once you do, you will have no problem to dispose of me in a blink of time."
The certainty with what she had said in her statement, made Tom blood boil with rage. She talked like she already knew him and what he was capable of. And he hated it, because she was right: being anyone else, he would have dispose of the other once the puzzle was solved. The problem was... she wasn't just 'anyone else' and he had the feeling he couldn't dispose of Hermione like he did with everybody else, his followers included. This thought was making him uncomfortable around her. He wasn't used to feeling sympathetic for others.
But he did feel sympathetic to her. Tom could see it in her eyes, deep down, that she was feeling lost. And he hated for Hermione to feel misplaced like he did for eleven years, at the Wool's Orphanage, among those Muggles. She was the strongest witch he'd ever known, by far, as he remembered the way she defended herself in the forest days ago, when he attacked her after discovering she wasn't a Muggle, like she had previously made him think. What Tom really wanted, was for her to belong to him. Like the Slytherin's locket and the Gaunt's ring. Like the Ravenclaw's diadem, once he'd found it.
"Are you going back to Hogwarts, tomorrow?"
Her voice brought him back from his musing. He nodded. "Classes start the first of January, but as Head Boy of the School, I have to go back and make sure everything's in order."
"Do you always make trips alone, during Christmas holidays?", Hermione asked, knowing very well the answer.
Tom liked that she was interested in knowing about his life. But he would have liked it better if she had answered at least one of the questions he asked her during their trips to the forest.
"No, this is the first time. Do you make a habit to stay in filthy Muggle hotels searching for the Founders' lost objects?"
Her expression saddened before turning in one of resolve. Did he want answers? Fine, she will give them to him, but at her own conditions. Then, maybe, he will give her a rest.
"No, I don't. But it's the only way I've got to go back home." And for her home to still exists.
"Can't you just Apparate?"
Hermione shook her head. "It's not that easy. At the moment, my home is in a very dangerous situation. I can't go back just like that. I need Rowena's wisdom."
Tom was puzzled. "Why would you want to go back if it's dangerous and it clearly makes you sad?"
"Because I'm sadder being here, Tom. No human can live without his heart, and mine is with my family and friends." It was the most honest answer she's ever given to him. And it was the only time where she had used his name spontaneously.
She placed down the tea cup on the table, and just when she was about to reach the doorknob, he asked almost desperately.
"Will you say goodbye, before going back? How will I know that you're gone?"
"I'll think about it," she replied after a moment. Then she exited.
Her green tea, was still untouched. And for the first time, with the snow falling outside, as his unique spectator, he breathed the cinnamon's scent in, wondering what having a heart meant.
That night, in his hotel's room, Hermione haunted his dreams.
The day of his eighteenth birthday, Tom woke up to find a terrarium on the bedside. Dry leaves made up the mattress, three rocks were disposed so they resemble a cave and to the branch of a beech tree set a twig of English ivy twisted all around it.
Before him, the ivy suddenly transfigured into an European ratsnake.
When, minutes later, he asked Mrs. Nikolla if she had seen Hermione, she simply gave him a note, leaving him alone.
Hope you liked the present. Don't be too mean with your classmates, Head Boy. And don't try to make Naga bite them, he's a very educated snake, for your information.
Till the next time,
Hermione.
Tom smiled at the cold, morning sun. It wasn't snowing anymore, but as he closed his eyes, he could still smell the cinnamon and see Hermione's untamed curls bounce off with her every move.
They will be seeing each other again.
Naga disappeared at the end of January. The terrarium too: it became a box again, full of dry leaves, three rocks, the beech's branch and a twig of ivy.
He missed the snake's company.
But the magic that made it alive, was gone. Hermione's magic was gone.
She had found her way home.
He finally had found it! The Ravenclaw's diadem was exactly where the Grey Lady had said it would be. Good. He really wasn't in the mood to search the forest in vain.
He frowned. There was a letter in the cave's tree. He recognised the handwriting.
Hello, Tom. If you're reading this letter, then I would already be gone to the future. Yes, Tom. The future. I hear Rowena's voice through the diadem reproaching me. But still, I feel the need to warn you. Please, consider this the last, desperate attempt of a very desperate woman. I know why you've searched the diadem for and I beg you to stop, before it's too late. You truly have no idea of what ripping the soul can do to a man. You're afraid of dying, but death is not the worst thing out there, Tom. Living your life being continuously pushed down because your parents are Muggle and you just don't fit in with the rest of the Magical Word... seeing your friends struggle to survive one day more, bewitch your own parents to make them forget about you so they will be safe from this war raging on... that's worse, that I can assure you of. Oh, yes. You got it just fine: I'm a Mudblood, Voldemort. But don't worry, maybe while you're reading I'll be already dead. Or on the brink to be struck over by the Killing Curse. You are not. Not yet, however. The time will come for you too. See, I am one of those very few people aware of your Horcruxes and part of the greater mass that is trying to kill you. Permanently. I warn you, Tom Marvolo Riddle: accept this humble, wise advise. It's not power, that makes a life worth to be lived, but it's in the connections and relationship secured, that the greatness of a man is measured up.
You're still in time to change the world for better: what's greater than that?
See you in fifty-three years,
Hermione.
Tom felt his mouth go dry. A Mudblood. All these months, he had sporadically dreamed of them, together, at the hotel, watching the snow fall by through the window. And all this time, she was a Mudblood. He couldn't believe it... he wouldn't. No one had ever duelled against him like she did, with such ability and fierce, never backing down.
She was from the future; now he understood why she knew so much about him.
Naga.
If Hermione knew about his idea of the seven Horcruxes, it was very probable that she knew about his birth, about his filthy Muggle father and his mother's lineage.
She didn't gave him just a way for him to know when she would be gone. No, the snake was a birthday present. Hermione's birthday present for him. Hermione the Mudblood.
Tom gritted his teeth. Maybe Hermione couldn't boast any magical ancestor, but apart from that, her intellect was sharp like his. And she was trying to kill him, in the future. Tom felt a sense of dread: with a mind like hers, she could easily succeed.
She was at war against him and she begged for him to stop it while he could.
Fifty-three years... they will meet again facing each other as enemies. He didn't like it. He wanted for Hermione to belong to him. For the first time, he'd actually found someone he thought could understand him. Maybe she wouldn't share his opinions, being her parents Muggles, but with patience and time she would see that it was for the best.
Fifty-three years.
Tom smirked. He would listen to her pleas. He wouldn't create an Horcrux.
Tom put on the diadem, closing his eyes. The feel of the warm, summer sun toned down and suddenly, it was Christmas holidays again, with the snow falling down and Hermione's chat in the breakfast's background of the hotel.
He smiled. They would meet sooner than Hermione thought. He wouldn't let her go. That much was sure.
HG&TR
Hope you liked it, thank you for reading!